Doctors assumed I was experiencing usual post-childbirth symptoms.
Until a few years ago, I never knew anything about colorectal cancer and its rising occurrences in young moms. Not until I became one of the skyrocketing numbers of young-onset colorectal cancer cases when I was diagnosed with Stage 3 rectal cancer on June 7, 2021. I was a 39-year-old mother of three boys in the best shape of my life the day I met my cancer. A lime-sized tumor was discovered in my colonoscopy after five years of voicing symptoms to every medical professional I knew. That’s when I learned that post-childbirth symptoms are very similar to those of colorectal cancer. Even though I was bleeding every time I pooped, people assumed, “This woman is healthy. She’s just having the usual post-childbirth symptoms.”
But as soon as I got my diagnosis, I went into action. I knew I couldn’t sit tight — it was becoming increasingly harder to sit anywhere except the toilet. I was bleeding a lot and was having increasingly urgent bowel movements, the texture of which resembled Cheetos.
The first thing I had to check off my growing to-do list was a big one: Breaking the news to my kids. And we had no intention of waiting, so as we returned home from the colonoscopy, my husband and I struggled to find the words to tell them. We’ve prioritized communication and processing big emotions from the moment our sons were born. But now, with a cancer diagnosis, my own mortality was hanging in the balance for the second time in less than two years after I nearly lost my life during the birth of our third son. Our boys came running to the car as we pulled into the driveway, speechless and unable to hold back the tears. We shared that doctors found something growing in my body that should not be there, naming the tumor Earl, inspired by The Chicks’ song “Goodbye Earl.” The magnitude of my cancer hit each of us at a different point.
Beau, then 16 months old, had to stop nursing overnight without time to transition and had to find new ways to snuggle now that I couldn’t pick him up. Desmond, deeply curious at five years old, immediately immersed himself in learning about “Big Gulp,” my surgically implanted port used for chemotherapy infusions; the “Laser Blasters” emitting targeted radiation over five weeks; and my “poop bag” changes for ileostomy, which we explained at his kindergarten show and tell together. Ford, then seven years old, an empath with high emotional intelligence, processed my cancer via visions of our family being overtaken by a tsunami.
Josh and I held each other when we felt broken and sang together on car rides to infusions. He was by my side in every appointment, infusion, surgery, and the days recovering at home — through sickness and in health as we vowed.
Leading up to this surgery, I took deliberate, difficult steps to prepare my husband and children for life without me. Chemotherapy and radiation were grueling, yet the night before my operation might have been the scariest. I feared the outcome of the 7+-hour rectal reconstruction would be fatal. I put my boys to bed, worried this would be the last time. I tried to stay strong while singing them to sleep through tears as they were calmed and drifting off to sleep, not realizing the weight I felt. I was terrified this would be the last time they would hear my voice and the last time I would see our children. Yet I knew rectal reconstruction was the most important chance for a cure. I sang just as I had every night of their lives.
Someday we’ll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on. They never die, just how you and I will be….Lu Lu Lu Lu Lu Lu Lu Lu.
Billy Joel, “Goodnight My Angel“
Thankfully, that wasn’t the last time I sang our boys their lullaby. The surgery was successful, with all tissue from Earl removed along with 32 lymph nodes. The operation confirmed I had a “Complete Response” from the chemotherapy and radiation — the most optimal outcome possible for someone with my diagnosis.
What new moms need to know about colorectal cancer
Women and mothers already struggle to be seen in our culture, and BeSeen.care was founded to combat that in this area. I started the BeSeen movement because no one should have to struggle as I did to be seen, heard, and supported. Colorectal cancer is preventable with early detection and screening, but it’s on track to be the top killer of young moms by 2030 and is currently the second cause of cancer-related deaths in women today.
Here’s what moms can do to be seen and make sure their story is different than mine:
- After childbirth, our bodies are recovering in many ways. Experiencing bloody poop or blood filling the toilet with bowel movements is not typical.
- Hemorrhoids are common from vaginal delivery. However, rectal blood loss is not normal.
- Post-childbearing bodily function that makes you feel like you have to rush to the bathroom is not a post-childbirth standard. Don’t settle for answers that say don’t address your concerns; demand science-backed tests to determine the root cause for your discomfort.
- Schedule a colonoscopy or poop test (like Cologuard) right away if you experience even one symptom associated with colorectal cancer.
- Seek out physical therapy for your pelvic floor post-birth. Origin offers in-person and virtual appointments across the country.
- If you have a family history, prioritize crafting a screening plan with your physician.
To join the BeSeen movement, take the pledge at www.BESEEN.care. You can be young, healthy, and have colorectal cancer. It’s time to BE SEEN.
Marisa Peters is a rectal cancer survivor, Broadway vocalist, keynote speaker, and women’s health advocate. She served as the chief people officer at VideoAmp, which AdAge recognized as the #1 Best Place to Work. Marisa has also held posts at Amazon Entertainment, Sony Pictures, and Atom Tickets. Most notably, she is a wife and mom of three boys and lives in Los Angeles with her family.
